The Life Daisy Devlin Designed

CHAPTER 3

“They’ve delivered the wrong fucking island unit, love.” Kenny, the foreman for Freya Maguire’s Victorian house, rubbed the back of his stubble-head and looked around the half–finished room.

Daisy stayed calm. “I’m sure they haven’t, Kenny. I designed this kitchen myself, so it’s been made to that spec.”

Kenny sucked his breath in through his teeth. “No offence, love, but maybe you got some measurements wrong.” He pointed to the huge slab of marble on the floor in the middle of the room. “That’s the top of their island unit, and it’s supposed to be just two and a half metres. If we were still doing this in old money, love, you’d be short a couple of feet!”

He handed Daisy the hard copy of the drawings she’d given him.

She took a professional measure from her pocket and, ignoring Kenny’s pointed sighs, checked the slab and the unit it was supposed to fit. “Shit.” She straightened up. “You’re right.”

The foreman huffed. “So what do you want me to do?”

Daisy looked around the large basement where the kitchen was being installed. “Take a break. I need to see if I can sort it.”

Kenny turned to the two other men on his team, who were running piping along a back wall. “Tea break, lads. Somebody find the biscuits – and they’d better be the good ones.”

Daisy left them to it, sliding open one of the big glass doors to the newly laid sandstone patio, warmed by some welcome March sun. Sitting down on the bench beside the garden’s side wall, she blotted out the delighted shrieks of Freya’s youngest child, who was being chased by her minder, and checked over her original drawings, before calling the suppliers.

Several frustrating minutes later, she hung up. This was worse than she’d thought. It wasn’t a simple delivery mix-up – they’d made the wrong size.

And they’d be ten days waiting for the right size. She couldn’t afford a delay like that. She sent Freya a quick text, asking if she could call her. Freya worked as a solicitor for a busy firm, and Daisy just hoped that she’d get a minute to check her messages.

A moment later, Freya rang. “I’m on a break – how’s it going?”

Daisy filled her in.

“ Bollocks! ” Freya said.

“I don’t want to delay the kitchen.”

Freya sighed. “Me neither. What do you suggest?”

Daisy took a breath. “Actually, I have an idea.”

A couple of minutes later, she ended the call and came back into the kitchen, where the three men eyed her over their mugs of tea.

“We sorted then, love?” Kenny helped himself to another biscuit.

“All sorted, Kenny.” Daisy beamed. “But I will need to call on your excellent carpentry skills.”

She waited politely as Kenny made a show of thinking about it. She’d known Kenny since she and Laura had set up their business, and she trusted his judgement completely. And, since his wife’s death just four months before, he’d thrown himself completely into his work. After a few moments, he sighed and put his cup on the counter.

“Tell me what you have in mind.”

There was an unmistakable gleam of interest in his eyes.

Freya arrived home just as Daisy was getting ready to leave.

“Hiya, didn’t expect to see you still here.” She gave Daisy an expectant look as she hung up her jacket.

“Well, there was a lot going on! And a few fires to put out, but nothing to worry about.”

Freya smiled distractedly. “I hope Holly didn’t get in your way? What time did Saoirse get back from school with her?”

“Oh, mid-morning. They’re in the garden having a picnic now, I think.” Daisy had wondered why she’d been home so early, but it was none of her business.

“Good. I just hope this one is made of stronger stuff than the last.” When Daisy frowned slightly, she added, “The childminder. She’s our second this year. We’re paying her very well, so fingers crossed.”

Daisy gave a polite smile. Freya rarely shared anything personal – Daisy had found her to be one of the most closed-off clients she’d had in a long while. During their first meeting, she’d attempted to break the ice by chatting a bit about her own family and had mentioned Rosie and her own young children. Freya had nodded politely before very firmly changing the subject. After that, Daisy had stuck to house matters.

“Come down and see the kitchen. Kenny’s also made a start on Holly’s bedroom.”

Daisy had been a bit taken aback when Freya had asked her to turn the master bedroom’s walk-in wardrobe into a small bedroom for their youngest, whom Daisy figured was the same age as her own twin nieces. In her experience, most women wanted more wardrobe space, not less. She’d gently suggested there was ample space in the older girls’ room which ran right across the back of the house. But Freya had been adamant.

“You’re doing an excellent job, Daisy,” she said now. “I can’t believe how fast it’s all coming together.” She unbuttoned the cuffs of her blouse and rolled up her sleeves. “Now, talk me through the kitchen issue, or I’ll have to suffer Kenny mansplaining it.”

Daisy followed Freya back down to the basement, smiling at the idea of Kenny mansplaining anything. Most of the time, she had to drag any information at all out of him. He tended to work on a need-to-know basis.

Freya and her husband Neil had moved into the Victorian redbrick after Freya had inherited it, and had got in touch with Discerning Designs to completely redesign and modernise it.

Structurally, it was in good condition, but Daisy had known it would need an overhaul of the electrics and plumbing. After consulting with the couple, she’d also organised underfloor heating, solar panels and a smart pump-system that continually cleaned the air.

“We want a functional but beautiful home,” Freya had said. “Remember, there’s seven of us. And get rid of all that old furniture. No offence to my grandmother, but all that dark wood depresses me.”

A quick look at the original furniture had confirmed Daisy’s initial thoughts. Most of it was well made – solid and beautifully crafted. Just not to Freya’s taste. As an experiment, Daisy had taken away an old chest of drawers and had it upcycled, stripping away all the layers of dark lacquer, before painting it a pale grey with navy trim, and replacing all the dark round handles with modern horizontal drawer-pulls.

“If you don’t like it, I’ll bear the expense myself and take it away,” Daisy had said.

“Are you joking?” Freya had looked amazed. “I love it!”

Thrilled that most of the old furniture could be reused, Daisy had hired a couple of experts to work on site for some of the bigger pieces, including wardrobes. Once the exteriors were finished, she’d got Kenny to overhaul the interiors – fitting smart, functional double rails, and modern shelving and drawers that maximised the space.

Now Freya looked at the top of the island unit, which Kenny had laid carefully on the floor. “I see what you mean – it’s far too short, isn’t it?”

Daisy nodded. “Kenny’s ordered a large piece of white oak, to match the cupboard doors. He’ll carve it into a semicircle and attach it to the end of the unit, to make a feature of it.” She found herself holding her breath. Even though she’d agreed the plan with Freya on the phone, experience had taught her that clients often changed their minds hours later.

But Freya’s focus seemed to have switched to the garden. “That’s all fine. So, when will everything be done?”

“If everything goes to plan, about five weeks – including the finishing touches.”

“Good.” Freya shot her a brief smile. “If that’s everything, I want to spend a bit of time with Holly.”

Daisy took the hint. “I’ll let myself out.”

She went back upstairs to the hall, retrieved her jacket, zipped her laptop back into her rucksack, and grabbed her bike helmet.

Halfway down the front steps, she realised she’d forgotten to ask if Freya had reconsidered letting her enter her home for the prestigious industry award. The sticking point for the couple was that if the house was shortlisted, it would feature on TV5’s Home Design of the Year programme, and Freya was adamant that none of them wanted to be on TV.

Daisy unlocked her bike, wheeled it to the road and clipped on her helmet. As she cycled off, her thoughts returned to their little company. Business had slowed for them in the last year, with people gravitating towards the bigger interior architect firms, especially those boasting awards. Even to shortlist for this award would be huge. Daisy picked up the pace and released a breath. This would be their year: she would make it happen.